Useless Clichés
by Sarah1281
Summary: In the wake of Sherlock's destruction at the hands of the press, Mycroft reflects on the part that he had played in the whole debacle. He may not have been the one to do it but he enabled it and no amount of well-meaning clichés would make him forget it.


Useless Clichés

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Note: Takes place during Reichenbach Fall.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. There weren't many that knew the name 'Mycroft Holmes' and that was how he preferred it. He told his brother that he was a minor government official (not that Sherlock knew nor cared what his title was) and his brother shot back that he _was_ the British government. It didn't matter what he was called, in the end, for his duties remained the same. Moriarty was James according to his birth certificate and Jim by preference. Strangely, this nickname had puzzled lesser minds who tried to puzzle out which was his 'real' name. Even more strangely, this needless confusion had surprised him but then he always had been more of an optimist than he thought was strictly practical. Moriarty was a madman or a genius depending on how stable he was at that minute and whether one was inclined to look at the horror of his crimes or the brilliance of them. And now he was 'Richard Brooks' in the eyes of the public and undoubtedly enjoying being cast as a hapless actor caught up in Sherlock's vanity. At least he was claiming that most of the crimes didn't actually happen and his brother wasn't _that_ far gone. In the end, Moriarty too was the same no matter how unstable he was or what he chose to call himself. And then there was Sherlock. Sometimes Mycroft wondered how it was possible for someone to care that little for public opinion. Oh, he himself never took the public opinion personally but he was well aware of how useful or dangerous it could be depending on the turn of it. And fickle, always fickle. One moment Sherlock was thrust out of obscurity – protesting bitterly, he was sure – to be a celebrated hero and the next he had offended one reporter and one detective too many and he was a dangerous fraud and a madman. And yet, nothing had changed just the world's perception of it. Sherlock was Sherlock just as he always had been and always would be though hopefully, if he got through this, he'd be a little wiser for his trouble. Even the doctor was a completely average risk-seeking injured army doctor and paradoxically the only man who could put up with his brother for prolonged periods of time and – even more notably – whose company was not only tolerated but actually _welcomed_.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. He had never been fond of sweeping generalizations (to the point where he usually declared that he was _generally_ not a fan of them) and this was no exception. How could it be that having a certain degree of power would _always_ produce the same result? Maybe it would nine times out of ten, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, however high one wanted to go but sooner or later there would be a case where it didn't. He himself had a great deal of power but it certainly wasn't _absolute_ or he wouldn't have been forced to let Moriarty go to try to bring him down later and he wouldn't be reading the skewering of his younger brother in print in all the major publications. Sherlock never would have gotten himself arrested for being _too_ good at solving a crime and forced to resort to 'taking a hostage' and fleeing the scene at gunpoint. But maybe there was something to that corruption theory. Moriarty had far too much control over what seemed like every crime in London on some days and Sherlock's increased prominence weren't doing anything about his willingness to play nice with the lesser mortals. The torturing he himself had arranged for Moriarty…his only regret about that was that it had been so ineffective. But the tales he himself had spilled to the madman (he was hardly in the mood to appreciate the 'brilliance') about his younger brother's life…he hadn't done so carelessly. He had known that if there was any possible use to be gotten from the seemingly trivial information then a man as obsessed with Sherlock and Sherlock's destruction as Moriarty was would find it and use it. He had known that it wasn't safe but it was risking Sherlock or risking Britain. He had already chosen Sherlock over Britain once not long ago during the Irene Adler fiasco. Sherlock, however, had proven that he was far more capable of taking care of himself than the country was and he, at least, knew exactly what Moriarty was and how much was at stake. His ability to protect himself would be hampered by the information Moriarty had managed to barter with Mycroft for but no matter how terrible things looked now Sherlock _would_ find a way to fix this and he would find a way to help. He had to believe that.

All for one, and one for all. Sherlock had never really been what one would call a 'team player.' He might have been solving cases left and right for Scotland Yard (provided they were interesting enough or he was sufficiently bored enough) but his motivation had never been to try to help others and he certainly didn't care to make those he worked with feel included or valued. He never really bothered to even work _with_ them either so much as steamroll right over them. Mycroft could understand Sherlock's need to put the puzzle above all things and in the end more effective results were achieved than if he had left the Yard to its own devices but it was dangerous and Sherlock was blind to that danger. Dr. Watson was not but even he could only do so much to smooth over relations. Was it any wonder that this Sergeant Donovan would take Sherlock's treatment of her fellows and her boss and use it to fuel her disbelief that anyone could really be that brilliant? Did it really surprise anyone that virtually everyone that Sherlock had ever slighted had all banded together as a unit to denounce him as a fraud?

All that glitters is not gold. Mycroft knew that John Watson was greatly enjoying the success of his blog and the internet phenomenon that his flatmate had become. And why shouldn't he? The more well-known and celebrated Sherlock became the more cases he had to choose from so the less bored he became and the less they had to worry about the money. Sherlock wouldn't have ever had _any_ money problems if he had just stopped being stubborn and let him take care of things but he knew that that was about as likely to happen as he was to stop keeping Sherlock under surveillance. There was the added bonus that as Sherlock became more and more well-known and celebrated, he became less disparaged by those not won over by his winning personality. There was the complication to his work that the loss of his anonymity caused, of course, but Sherlock was smart enough – and skilled in disguise enough – to work around it. It all seemed like such a good thing but Mycroft had been worried since it started. He wouldn't go so far to say that what comes up must come down but celebrities rarely stayed interesting when everyone loved him and he knew firsthand how difficult Sherlock could make loving him. All this fame would one day cause problems and now it had and Sherlock's reputation and his career were in shambles and his future uncertain.

Am I my brother's keeper? Sherlock would certainly say that he was and then quickly add that he should not be because he was a fully-functional – and clean – adult who could take care of himself. Mycroft had always felt that he was and he didn't think that was going to change anytime soon. There was just something about the way that Sherlock seemed to lack any sense of self-preservation, forgot to eat, went without sleep while on a case, eschewed manners habitually, thought breathing was boring, turned to drugs to escape from reality, and never thought about money that made him worry. Sherlock couldn't understand it and he couldn't find a way to properly explain it to him. Having John around made it easier since he took care of Sherlock's physical needs (since God knew Sherlock couldn't be bothered) but still, he couldn't bring himself to stop watching 221b Baker Street. In the wake of this disaster with the press and the assassins continually moving in next door that no one else seemed to notice, the surveillance seemed more necessary than ever before.

Beware the ides of March. Sherlock might never seek Mycroft out unless he needed something, make every excuse to avoid his company, and complain bitterly when they were together and it might have been true that they rarely ended an encounter without some sort of argument breaking out but he knew that Sherlock had never expected that Mycroft would do anything to hurt him. Mother him to death, perhaps, but not hurt him. It was a reasonable assumption since hurting Sherlock was the last thing that Mycroft had ever wanted to do and he put a great deal of effort into ensuring that no one else hurt him either. But when it came right down to it and he was once more faced with protecting the nation or protecting Sherlock…maybe Sherlock should have been a bit more cautious in that regard.

The Cat's whiskers. Sherlock's abilities had long-since been the subject of annoyance and disbelief on the part of the people he used them on. It wasn't until John showed up on the scene that he really had any appreciation for them (his family didn't count as they were pleased but unimpressed and Lestrade always claimed desperation as his primary motive for seeking his brother out) and the novelty of his abilities being praised was clearly going to Sherlock's head. Through John's admiration which he poured out into the world via his blog, the rest of the world soon was introduced to Sherlock's little gift. At first there was nothing but awe and admiration for Sherlock's seemingly magical ability to read a person's life from how they presented themselves and the state of their clothes. No one liked being made to feel unclever for long, though, and Sherlock's abilities by themselves would have succeeded there even without Sherlock's words helping things along. And when admiration turned to envy things would invariable take a turn to the worse. Even though he had been expecting it, it was rather disheartening just how completely the tides had changed. At least John was still loyal. He hadn't thought to worry but when even _Lestrade_ had his doubts he realized that he couldn't just take John for granted.

Do unto others as you would have other do unto you. It was, theoretically, a good philosophy and a fairly simple one to live by. He had never found it to be very practical, though, and certainly not in recent years. He knew that he would never want to be watched at all times (couldn't _afford_ to be watched at all times) though it was absolutely essential that he knew everything that went on everywhere if he needed to. The few times he didn't led to such travesties as the 'Richard Brooks' situation or Sherlock ODing under a bridge somewhere. And he would definitely not want to be tortured but every now and again someone had key information that they weren't keen on sharing. Even taking into account the possibility that the tortured person was just saying anything to end the pain, it did have its uses. With one as insane as Moriarty he had no idea if the man would really object to the sorts of things he did to people. Sherlock had never seen the need to live by that code either though John mostly followed it to the extent that the average person did (there were a few notable exceptions but some cabbies simply needed to be shot). In Sherlock's case, so much of this could have been avoided if he had just been able to stick a little closer to that rule and not felt the need to use people's badly-hidden secrets to bring them to their knees. But then, Sherlock cared so little for what others said or thought that had someone done that to him – as Moriarty undoubtedly did – it really wouldn't have affected him.

Like chalk and cheese. Or to put it a different way, as different as night and day. There weren't as many differences between Sherlock and Moriarty as he would have liked and every time the pair met there were problems. They were both too brilliant, too unstable, too bored of this world. And then there was John. At first, Mycroft hadn't thought that they would, how should he put it, 'hit it off' since all they seemed to share was a love of excitement and danger. But maybe that was a good thing. Sherlock killed John's ennui by dragging him into a world full of serial killers and foot-chases through London while John returned the favor just by being around to talk to and forcing him to take part in the real world and pulling him out of his mind sometimes. He didn't know how functional their differences would make a real relationship but as far as a friendship and a partnership went it seemed to be exactly what they both needed.

Thick as a ditch. Sherlock made no secret that he thought of virtually everyone he met as this. As it happened, that was generally Mycroft's opinion as well but at least he had the sense to hide it. And Moriarty, too, shared this opinion and had even started toying with the idea that Sherlock was just as boring as everyone else because he didn't see the need to engage in criminal enterprises. Never mind that if Sherlock weren't there to solve the crimes then Moriarty probably wouldn't have had an interest in perpetuating them in the first place. Oh but with all of Sherlock's oh-so-casual disdain for everyone around him, how could he have failed to alienate everyone eventually even without 'Richard Brooks' to speed up the process? And it had been sped up, not only by Moriarty but by the weapons that Mycroft had handed him. It had seemed risky but ultimately worth it at the time.

You're only human. And wasn't that the problem? Mycroft didn't yet know how this would all turn out and even though Sherlock undoubtedly had a plan the fact remained that none of this might have been possible without him (he said 'might' because someone as twistedly brilliant as Moriarty could very well have found another way). This was his responsibility, though, because this was largely his mess regardless of just how easy Sherlock had made it. And so he knew that, even more than usual, anything Sherlock needed would be his. All he had to do was ask. He could only hope that Sherlock _would_ ask.

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